


Because The Night

by Iknowthebattle



Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Lady Bird (2017)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Queer Character, Queer Culture, Queer Themes, Queerplatonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 01:38:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13730385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iknowthebattle/pseuds/Iknowthebattle
Summary: Timothee and Saoirse are both young and queer in Hollywood.The story of two close friends figuring out shit together.Multiple partners ensue most likely. Male and female.Take my hand, as the sun descendsThey can't hurt you now.-Patti Smith; Because the Night





	Because The Night

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a set of scenes/circumstances close to a multi-chapter fic. Still figuring it out. 
> 
> Major hat tip to elio-bonerman for the idea and some great initial images--who can resist Timmy and Saoirse getting ramen? This is for you. xx 
> 
> Tumblr; Iknowthebattle

**_New York, New York_ **

Timothee got there first; they were meeting at their favorite ramen spot; hole in the wall, not quite SoHo, very much Chinatown, but still inching towards Broome Street. It was the equivalent of a dive bar but with noodles and broth.

Timmy sat in their usual table (by the window, to the left as soon as you walked in) and stuffed his long legs under, boots on each side of the table legs. He drummed his fingers on the plastic menu (only 6 items, so you knew it was legit), no need to look as he knew what he was going to order.

He looked around the tiny restaurant, filled to the brim. He was lucky that he scored their table. The back-up option, two seats at the corner of the bar, were already filled so Timothee felt good about his timing.

 For some reason it mattered to him that he was able to sit here with Saoirse, for her to see that he had gotten there first and grabbed their spot, to see how happy it made her. It made him happy too. He liked having a purpose, he liked fulfilling a need.

The restaurant was humming, the happy hour crowd warming up inside, happy to be there in time for the $6 lychee martinis and pot stickers.

Timothee took off his over coat, putting it on the back of his chair, and the waitress was by his side. He greeted her with a smile and let her know he would wait until the other person got here to order.

He gestured at the chair across from him when he said _“the other person”_ and it felt strange now to say her name, to make it so informal. He always panicked when trying to find words or phrases to describe people he loved, never too much, never ever too little, but just right.

It was getting darker earlier, and Timothee didn’t mind. He liked the transition from fall to winter, a gentle hand-off for a while before the storms, before the domination of snow and dark began.

The door jingled, and even by the way it opened he knew it was her. He stood up, all muscle memory, to greet her with a deep hug and a kiss, first on one cheek, then the other, and finally on the lips, their hands on one another’s shoulders, gripping tightly, warmly, knuckles white, fingers on shoulder blade and bone.

“Timmy! You got our spot!”  Saoirse was shrugging out of her over size coat, putting it on the back of her chair, a mirror image of Timothee’s.

“I did, I did,” he was rubbing his hands together as he sat down. “Got here just in time.”

Saoirse was looking at him, hands on the table, purple and blue near her nails from the cold. Timothee took one hand and brought it up to his mouth and blew on it, warm air on cold flesh.

“You’re ridiculous,” she laughed, pulling back, using her hands to shove the in-between colors of red and blonde hair behind her ears.

Timothee smiled. “It’s cold out there!” 

“That it is.”  

The waitress came by again, perfect timing as always, and they both ordered without looking at the menu _(one vegan Negi-Goma Ramen, one Miso ramen, two beers)._

Saoirse wiped away imaginary crumbs in front of her and leaned in towards Timmy, arms and elbows on the  sticky table.

“So. Tell me everything.”

Timmy laughed, head tilted back in full joy, shaking his head until his hair fell into his face. “Tell you what?”

“About your new project! The one in London, yeah?”

Timmy nodded, suddenly eager to share the details, eager to hear Saoirse’s opinion on it, on everything.

“And it’s so cool because like…” He paused, cleared his throat, fist over mouth, lowering his hand flat to his chest to cover his heart solemnly.

“I will be portraying one Shakespeare’s finest characters, King Henry, so I get to practice my _British accent._ ”

Saoirse looked at him blankly for one beat, then two, mouth half-open, eyes dead, before she burst out laughing, loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear. She had to cover her mouth, her face red from forehead to ear to chin from holding in sound.

“Jesus… _Christ!_ You sound like an utter idiot!” She finally howled.

Timothee’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”

This only made her laugh harder. She shook her head, slowly, back and forth, before eventually coughing and calming herself down, fanning her watering eyes.   

“Okay, okay…so,” Another cough, Timothee was laughing now too, their own corner full of reckless noise, the shuffling of winter boots and feet.

“Now you have to do a New York accent… _please_ tell me you can do a New York accent!”

Timothee forced himself to get serious, coughing laughter away, shaking his head again to focus.

“Hey’a….yanno….you wanna…how about that second ave-vah-nue subway line, eh?”

Saoirse was practically under the table, on the floor, howling with laughter.

“How in the actual fuck Timmy…how in the actual _fuck_ are you…so BAD at this? You’re _from here_!”

“Bagel! Guggenheim! Metro Card!” he exclaimed, each word puncturing the air with his own delight and teasing.

Their food came out now, and the table turned quiet as each tucked into their ramen, chopsticks sharpening in harmony before plunging into the steaming broth in front of them.

“So,” Saoirse pointed a single chopstick in his direction. “If you want help on the accent, or… _any_ accents, you know all you have to do is ask.”

Timmy slurped up a bit of broth and wiped his mouth on a paper thin, cheap napkin that broke apart across his fingers and lips. He shoved it under his bowl.

“What if I spoke in a British accent the rest of the night so I could master it?” He snapped his fingers with his free hand. “Like that?”

Saoirse paused, chopsticks hovering above her bowl, a noodle handing out of her mouth.

“All night?”

Timothee nodded.

“With me?”

“Who else?”

“What about…a French accent instead?”

“ _Oui_.”

Saoirse titled her head. “Almost.”

“What? _Quelle?!”_

“Scottish?”

“Of course.”

Saoirse made a face. “Ouch. Irish?”

“I’m not that brave!”

“Yeah, wise.”

They fell into comfortable silence again, each finishing their meal by turning the bowls up to their mouths, sucking the last bit of broth down at the same time.

“Holy shit, that was good,” Timmy breathed, satisfied.

Saoirse nodded. “Always.” She looked out the window next to them, and then looked at Timmy, reaching across the table to hold hands.

“I don’t want to go back to my hotel.”

“Who said you had to?”

Saoirse smiled, wide and relieved.

“Well then, what trouble shall we get up to?”

They settled the bill in cash (Saoirse paid, she usually did) and they walked arm in arm out into the night, the city buzzing around them, trains rumbling under their feet, their boots click clacking in the same rhythm.

It was Timmy’s city, but Saoirse was born here and she usually led the way, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him in one direction or another, full of questions or ideas. _Have you been here? When did this open?_  Timmy was the foster parent to New York City, always introducing it again to Saoirse, helping her return, get comfortable.

But tonight they were simply walking. It was one of his favorite things to do in the City whether alone or with someone like now.

He felt Saoirse bump up against his shoulder with her arm, her signal that she wanted to talk. They turned off down a quieter street.

“So…is it _too_ obvious that we’re the biggest queers in Hollywood if we keep bringing our mams and sister to award shows?”

Timmy stifled some sort of choked, abrupt laughter.

“Saoirse!”

She laughed too, a tiny echo against the pavement below.

“Well? Am I wrong?”

He shook his head. “Who knows? No one thinks Leo DiCaprio likes boys when he shows up with his Mom.”

“Well, people think a lot of other things about Leo.”  

They walked on for a bit longer, Saoirse stopping to window gaze at a vintage furniture shop, Timothee enjoying being led around their shared terrain. He saw new things with her.

“Just promise me,” Saoirse picked up the thread of the conversation again, “that you’ll never ask me to be your beard.”

They were both laughing again, but there was somberness around the edges.

“Wow, do people even do that anymore?”

Saoirse shrugged.

 “So what’s new?”

Timothee took a deep breath, letting the air of his cheeks, his mouth in the perfect shape of an O.

“Armie’s in LA….”

“I love that you answer that question every time with something about Armie.”

He shoved her gently, shoulder to shoulder.

“Well, you asked.”

“That I did.”

A beat.

“I don’t see him much, or I should say, I’m guessing I won’t see him as much pretty soon.”

“Oh please, he still texts you non-fucking-stop. You two are annoying and delightful as shit.” Saoirse rolled her eyes.

“I know, I know. I’m just saying…its different now. I can tell. There’s a shift. I feel like we were in this bubble and it was…I guess I’m trying to freeze that frame, that snapshot in time.”

Saoirse grabbed his hand, walking for a bit while facing him. “Timmy, you’re so dramatic!”

“Probably.”

“I saw the way you two danced that night…”

Timmy hung his head, smiling, mouth falling open to try and form words but he wanted Saoirse to keep talking, to take him back to the after party at the Golden Globes, dancing between her and Armie until almost 5:00 in the morning.

He had loved introducing them, bringing his two worlds together. He thought he may burst when they shook hands and then hugged. Everything had fallen into place that night, everything made sense. It made him woozy with bliss. He had made this happen.

“There was nothing better than dancing, holding a glass of champagne, watching the two of you pretend this was a casual thing to do, to dance that close to your friend, brother, whatever you’re calling it this week.”

“Fuck!” Timothee nearly screeched.

Saoirse shrugged, not at all bothered. “I mean, I guess I’ve seen two close friends dance until one has the other against the wall but…”

“Oh my god,” Timmy was covering his face now.

He knew Armie had been drinking since 5pm, and knowing in order to dance that Armie had to drink so most of the work was already done when Armie slid over to him after the ceremony, arm around his waist saying, “introduce me to your other cute blonde friend,” all jest, but Armie didn’t let go of him as they walked over to find Saoirse.

Her face when they walked up, Armie holding Timmy so close there was no space between them went from small surprise to pleasure to knowing in an instant. They almost looked like a two headed monster sharing a body as they stumbled over to where she stood.

“You must be the famous Armie,” Saoirse already had her hand out, waiting to be greeted, exalted, happy.

Timmy had pretended he was teaching Armie to dance, and Armie pretended he was a willing pupil. Timmy had put his hands on Armie’s hips, _no you ROLL them,_ and tried to show him, but it only made the three of them dissolve into laughter, spilling their drinks.

Saoirse stood between them, attempting to twirl both men round and round, standing on tip toe in bare feet, but lost the battle to Armie’s towering height.

This was some sort of new, modern family, Timmy thought with a loose, big smile, watching Armie and Saoirse bump and grind, not romantic, but already connected, familiar because of their relation to him.

They kept walking. Timmy knew Saoirse wanted more from him and was about to ask.  

“There was that one guy…from the bar?” Timothee’s mouth twisted up. “But we ended up just texting.”

“Bummer.” A pause. “But was the texting hot?”

Timmy looked at her. “Yeah…yeah it was.”

There were others, but he thought maybe he should be careful with everyone, everywhere. He had made out with a few girls lately, two boys; sexy-texting-boy from the bar had been reading and Timmy forced himself to ask what he was reading, scribbling his number on his book mark instead of taking the guy’s number first which he regretted instantly. Anyway, they had ended up making out in the bathroom and that had been hot as fuck.

Saoirse had laughed aloud when he texted her _< danced with someone last night…>_ while he was in Italy.

_< Was he cute?>_

No answer for seven minutes.

 

_< Well, yeah.>_

_< At a club?>_

_< NO !! At a dance party for the film.” _

_< What type of dance?>_

_< I don’t know…hugging?>_

_< What the fuck is a hugging dance??>_

_< A sort of slow dance…I guess it was more like an embrace?>_

_< So you slow danced with an attractive guy in front of a square full of people with phones and cameras?>_

_< Yep>_

_< Brilliant>_

Timothee nudged her now. “Your turn.”

“Argh!” Saoirse did a frustrated howl at the sky. “Not my turn, no no no.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Timmy poked her in the rib cage with his elbow and she tugged on the back of his hair.

“Jesus.”  She wiped her hands down the front of her face.

“I’ve been going back and forth so much, I can’t keep track of my own life let alone anyone else’s.”

Timmy nodded. “What about back home?”

Saoirse shook her head. “No, but I’m heading back to Ireland after all this,” she motioned with her hands in the night air. “And then I’m going to disappear for a bit.”

“God, you’re going to have so much fun.” Timmy bit his inner jaw, battling a tiny swath of jealousy that Saoirse would be away soon, traveling, reading, catching up on films and TV she didn’t let herself watch when she was working and she was always working. Timmy always asked her, _“Have you seen….?”_ And she always answered, _“You know I haven’t.”_

“I’m hoping to have some fantastic travel hook up on a beach somewhere where I either fall in love with them, and we stay in touch forever or it’s quick and dirty and I can humble brag about it to you for months.”

Timmy sighed, tired and happy for her.

“How’s Greta?”

He felt Saoirse stiffen beside him.

“She’s good. I’m seeing her while I’m here. You should come with.”

Timmy shrugged. “Don’t you want to spend some time with her?” This didn’t feel like quite his world. Saoirse yes, but he knew she loved the time she spent with Greta and he knew it was on another level and he wanted her to have that.

“Course I do.”  Her voice was quiet now. “But maybe the three of us could have dinner at her place? Or grab drinks or something.” She sniffed the cold air, just the tip of her nose turning pink. It was the first time all evening she hadn’t sounded sure of herself.

Timmy stopped walking, turning to face her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and looked at her, kissing her frigid nose. He bent down, putting his head on her shoulder.   

“What are you doing?”

“A hugging dance,” Timothee was swaying now, moving Saoirse with him.

She pushed him away, but grabbed his hand, twirling and turning him on his heel. She jumped off the sidewalk and onto the street, empty for a few brief moments.

Timmy held on, letting himself be pulled. They yelled into the night at no one and everyone in particular, running full speed down a street they had marked as theirs.


End file.
